


The Adventure At The Trepoff Monastery

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [40]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Forced Marriage, M/M, Murder, Religion, Russia, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, cover-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A clash of religious cultures proves deadly – but the identity of the killer might well lead to war in Europe. Sherlock uncovers the real killer, and then covers them up again.





	The Adventure At The Trepoff Monastery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm4ever81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm4ever81/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

It seems strange to think that when my father was born back in eighteen hundred and twenty-two, railways were a novelty rather than a fact of life, and even the Penny Post which would increase communication between people tenfold lay nearly two decades into the future. Nowadays it was possible to communicate, if not instantly, then with amazing speed via the electronic telegraph. And I am sure that my brother Sherlock (who was still Not Sulking about a certain doctor's recent marriage) was immensely grateful that, whilst he was touring the battlefields of the Crimean Peninsula a thousand miles away, 'dear' Mycroft was able to communicate with him and direct him to solve a most curious and potentially explosive killing. Immensely grateful.

A certain muscled behemoth can cut the sniggering _right now!_

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Esquire_

I had a most enjoyable trek across the Continent, made more so by my observing certain political developments that suggested such things might soon become impossible given the turmoil brewing in so many countries. I did think of writing to Watson, especially as I knew that he had himself expressed a wish to see the famous battlefields of the Crimea (it should be remembered the the famous wars there had taken place only three decades past), but I desisted. He needed his attention on both his medical work and his new wife. I was fine by myself.

I had, of course, forgotten about the ubiquitous telegraph system, useful in my investigations back in England but like most inventions, capable of working against me. I was in Theodosia when Mycroft's telegram caught up with me, stating that our Aunt Ada was seriously ill and I might call in on the British consulate in Odessa for further details. Knowing that this meant rather more than a sick relative – it was even more serious that 'Uncle Albert's bad chest' – I left the Peninsula and headed along the coast, wondering what political mess my brother wished me to clear up this time.

A very large one, was the answer.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

For those who do not know it (and because Watson always said that I should include such information for his readers), Odessa is an important city on the northern fringe of the Black Sea, which as people know feeds into the Mediterranean Sea through the Bosphorus Channel past Constantinople. It had once been a small Ottoman settlement called Yedisan but had been taken by the Russians at the end of the last century, and had grown impressively ever since despite being shelled by the British and French during the Crimean Wars. I repaired quickly to the British consulate there where a tow-headed youth who looked more suited to working as a farm-hand than a British government official made me welcome. His name was Rupert Windermere, and I knew that despite appearances he was a lot cleverer than he looked.

A certain medical scribe I know would have made a caustic remark here, but I shall desist.

“This is most awkward”, he said. “You see, the murder did not exactly take place on Russian soil.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Not here in Odessa?” I asked.

“Oh it was here all right”, he said, further confusing me. “Have you read about the famous Trepoff Monastery?”

I had not.

“It is officially called St. Stephen's-on-the-Water”, he said. “If you came in on the train you might have seen it on the waterfront. It is legally no man’s land; the story goes that the church founder some six centuries back was promised all the land south of a post at the end of the headland, which then was about a yard of soil, and he and the monks then spent years carting tons of stone to create a new spur of land on which the monastery is now built. It is as you would expect an Orthodox shrine, but unusually it contains separate worship areas for members of other faiths. A condition of its being built, one presumes.”

“And the murder took place on holy ground?” I asked, shocked.

“Indeed”, Mr. Windermere said. “The Russians are threatening to get involved, which would add a religious dimension to our already complicated relations with them. And as the dead man was a citizen of the Ottoman Empire across those blue waters, they too have an interest.”

“Problems all round, then”, I said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Windermere arranged for a cab to take me to the monastery and I soon had my first real glimpse of the place. It looked, I felt, distinctly dark and forbidding, almost black against the distant horizon of the Black Sea. There was no customs post or anything as I effectively left Russia, and the cab rumbled over the narrow causeway and up to the door where an officious-looking guard looked at me as if he would have loved to have turned me away but knew that (reluctantly) he had to let me in. When the huge oak doors slammed shut behind me, I was hard put to remember that this was a religious establishment and not a prison.

Abbot Godfrid was a tall, lean fellow in his fifties, with greying hair and pince-nez. I wondered how he felt at my being called in, and whether he would make things easy or difficult. I did not have long before I found out.

“Mr. Holmes!” he beamed at me, as if I was an old friend who he had just not seen for a while. I almost stepped back at the over-effusiveness of the greeting before he elaborated. “I have read your wonderful story, and my friend in England has promised to further me the “Strand” magazine when more such are published. Your doctor friend is a most excellent raconteur of your adventures together.”

Once more I felt a little ashamed at my harsh words to Watson over his writings. I made a mental note to record the abbot's praise and pass it onto him when I told him about this matter. Presuming that I solved it, of course.

“Please tell us everything about what happened”, I said, taking a seat. The Abbot sighed heavily.

“I will get Prior Gustavus to show you the scene of the crime later”, he said, “after we have gone through what little that I can tell you. Unfortunately I had just arrived back from a conference in Moscow when it all happened, and was still settling back in. It is a most dreadful situation.”

He was away when it had happened, I noted. Interesting.

“I left for the conference two weeks back. Eight days ago, a man calling himself just ‘Mohammed’ came to the Abbey. As you may know we have separate worship areas for other religions, and nothing much was thought about it when he went into the room reserved for those of his faith. The four non-Orthodox areas are closed off from the rest of the abbey, so he was not disturbed. However, at the end of the day, he refused to leave. Prior Gustavus was not pleased but he did not wish to force the issue, so the man was allowed to stay the night.”

“I am surprised that you did not use your soldiers to have him evicted”, I said.

The abbot smiled.

“One of the terms of our being allowed to build on this site was that the non-Orthodox areas became sanctuaries”, he explained. “That of course became the issue the next day, when the man officially claimed the right of sanctuary. Fortunately we have an Arabic speaker amongst the brothers so his demands were understood if politically unwelcome. And then he went and got himself murdered!”

I suppressed a smile at the indignation of the abbot, that someone should be so downright inconsiderate as to allow themselves to be done to death on _his_ premises. He continued.

“I should explain at this point that there is an old legend, which we have been very careful to cultivate, that a time long ago a local official ignored the abbey’s neutrality and tried to break in to seize a prisoner claiming sanctuary inside. He was struck down by lightning the moment that he touched the great door, the Lord not having been overly impressed at his impiety. Our neighbours in Odessa have changed several times since then, but the Russians have always respected our 'borders', and when they wish to talk they always send a messenger first. One arrived soon after all this trouble broke, so the Prior and I went into town.” 

The abbot’s face turned sour. “It turned out that the man was wanted for abducting a nine-year-old girl and forcing her to go through some sham of a wedding ceremony! That sort of thing is, from what I understand, thought acceptable in his own religion, but of course the girl’s parents who were Christians…. well, as you will understand, they were some way beyond furious. And as it turned out, quite influential in local political circles which of course made matters worse. Fortunately they had got the girl back but they were determined to pursue her abductor.”

“Rightly so!” I said.

“The rules of sanctuary bind me more firmly than any laws of man”, the abbot said, sounding almost rueful. “The man had twelve days from his claim being made – I know it is forty in the West but things are different here - and if he did not leave at that time then he had to be allowed to leave the country. Of course that is a little difficult here as technically there is no country to leave, but the point is that he could not be challenged. I understand that the Ottoman Empire offered to take him away by boat if necessary, and the Russians countered by threatening to blockade the abbey if they tried. My contacts in the town have told me that a Russian ship is now patrolling the seas south of here.”

I pressed my fingers together.

“Did you return from your conference on time?” I asked. The abbot looked surprised at the question.

“Ahead of time, actually”, he said. “A friendly guard told me of an alternative route that enabled me to make a connection I had not expected to, and I returned half a day early as a result. Why? Do you think the killer expected me to be away?”

“That is possible”, I said. “It is notable that the killing happened at the one time that you were away, which I would presume is not a common occurrence. So, to the murder.”

“It was the strangest thing”, the abbot said. “I of course had a further meeting with Prior Gustavus and some of the other brothers when we came back from the town. Things were particularly tense as the girl’s family had just come to the abbey to worship, as was their right…..”

“Are they all Orthodox Christians?” I interrupted.

“All except her elder brother”, he said. “He is of the Jewish persuasion; I believe that he has married a Jewess. I should add that he is twenty or so years of age; it is a large family.”

I bit back a smile. This looked promising.

“About an hour after dinner”, the abbot continued, “the Prior came running into my room looking quite perturbed. Someone had managed to break into the Muslim worship area and had fatally stabbed our guest. This is a calamity of the first order, sir. If we cannot find out who is responsible then there is every possibility that war may be renewed between Moscow and Constantinople.”

“A dreadful prospect”, I said. “Is the room where the man was staying completely secure?” 

There was the briefest of pauses before the abbot answered.

“It is”, he said. “The only way off the peninsula is via the causeway, and we always have a guard at the door.”

“What rooms adjoin onto where the man was?” I asked.

“It is the second of the four non-Orthodox rooms”, the abbot explained. “The Jewish room is on the north side, and the Catholic room on the south. And yes, I too thought that Mr. Holmes, particularly with the elder brother Frederick having been in the next room around the time of the murder, but the doors between all four rooms are always kept locked and only I have the keys.”

“There are no spares?” I asked.

“One set, but they are kept by the porter and the on-duty guard.” On seeing my confused expression he went on, “it is a double lock; I have two keys that will open it, and they have one each. The guards change of course, but the porter Septimus I would trust with my life.”

“You left your own set in possession of your deputy during your absence, I presume?” I asked.

The abbot looked decidedly alarmed. 

Yes”, he said warily. “You are not saying.....”

“I am not saying anything yet”, I cut in. “The dead man presumably had no friends or acquaintances here?”

“An imam from the local mosque came and asked to speak with him”, the abbot said, “and was admitted at the gate but the man refused to let him into the chamber. As I said, the rules of sanctuary meant that we could not force the issue. I have to say that I was more than a little suspicious of that imam; he asked the prior what would happen if he too claimed sanctuary, but was told that he would not be allowed into the same room as our 'guest'.”

“And there is no other way into this room other than the main door and the connecting doors?”

“None”, the abbot said firmly.

“Is there a window in the room?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, but it opens out directly onto the sea”, the abbot said. “And it is high up, the equivalent of a third-floor window I would say.”

This was, I thought, tricky. 

“I would like first to talk with your cook”, I said.

The abbot looked at me as if I had gone mad.

“My cook?” he asked dubiously. “You do not think that Brother Sebastian had anything to do with this?”

“I merely wish to check something with him”, I said. “If you could ask Prior Gustavus to take me to him, then I could ask him one or two questions later. I do not wish to raise your hopes, sir, but there may be a solution here that could avoid the troubles you have rightly foreseen may otherwise happen.”

“I shall summon Prior Gustavus at once”, he said firmly.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I had only one question for the cook but I made sure that I was keeping an eye on the Prior when I asked it. Sure enough he looked decidedly alarmed before turing away. 

“You are married?” I asked as we walked to the scene of the crime.

He looked at me in surprise. I indicated the gold band on his ring-finger.

“No, that is for my niece Helen”, he said. “Her father and uncle were killed in the last war against the Turks, ten years ago. The order does not allow married priests but Father Abbot is most generous in allowing me to be excused certain duties so that I may attend her in the town from time to time.”

And that was the last piece of the jigsaw, I thought. Now to reassemble the pieces to produce a different picture. I waited until we were inside the room where the killing had happened before I spoke.

“I know that you killed him”, I said bluntly.

The priest blanched.

“I know how you did it”, I said. “That was why I wished to question the cook who, as you saw, confirmed my suspicion that _you_ offered to take your unwelcome guest food that fateful day, knowing that there would be few if any volunteers. You drugged the food to make the man slow in his reactions, and then used the keys left you by Father Abbot to open the connecting door and admit your accomplice, the brother of the girl who your victim had tried to take as a wife.”

“His actions were vile!” Prior Gustavus said hotly. “His religion – if I can call it that – abuses girls too young to know better.”

“Whereas yours has this thing called a Commandment stating 'thou shalt not kill'”, I said mildly. “You may remember the book that comes from. It may be contradictory in parts, but you committed cold-blooded murder.”

“And I would do it again, faced with such a creature!” the prior said firmly. “That man was not fit to live.”

“Yet many more people could die as a result of your actions”, I pointed out, “especially if it leads to the Ottoman and Russian Empires going to war. Are you content to have their blood on your hands as well?”

The man's face fell.

“Fortunately I am here to prevent such a thing”, I said. “And with your assistance, I think I may be able to do that.”

He looked at me cautiously.

“You are not going to turn me in?” he asked.

“I do not see that anything would be gained by it”, I said. “In my investigative career I have often followed justice first and the law later. By the letter of the law, what you did was vile and wrong. But by the rules of justice, that man would have been as responsible as you yourself for any political repercussions from his actions. Now I shall need a duster, some polish, an axe, a ball-bearing or two, a rock, some painted wood and some rope....”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Considering that this case was all about justice, I should by any measure have felt at least a tad guilty about what I had done. Fortunately I did not.

“Now, Father Abbot”, I said as we entered the room where the crime had taken place. “I have reviewed this case and I am sure that I know exactly what happened. If we can find sufficient evidence to back up that sequence of events, then a political disaster may be averted. I have two pieces of that evidence to start with.”

I produced from my pocket a large rock and a small round piece of metal both of which I placed on the table.

“What are these?” the abbot asked, curiously.

“The rock comes from directly below the window over there”, I said, gesturing to a large bay window and privately wondering what the amount of extra time in Purgatory was for lying to an abbot. “You will notice that there is a faint scrape of blue paint against one side. A boat has clearly rubbed up against it for some time and also quite recently, otherwise the sea-tides would have washed it away.”

He gasped.

“The murderer came by sea!” he said. “And the metal ball?”

“That is typical of bearings used as part of a grappling-hook”, I explained. “The ball rotates in the device; you can see the marks on it. You will also notice that even though it is broken, half of it is perfectly rounded which was how I recognized it. The next part is more mundane, I am afraid. We will have to check the furniture in this room for scratch marks. Start with the heaviest items first, please.”

I allowed the abbot to find what I had put there earlier; scratch marks along one leg of the heavy table. 

“They have been polished over”, he observed. “The murderer tried to cover his tracks.”

I bent down over by the window, and placed something inside an envelope. Once I had finished, I brought it over for him to see.

“It looks like hair”, the abbot said dubiously.

“Hempen fibres”, I explained. “From a rope. The murderer gained access by getting a rope tied around the table leg, then hoisted themselves into the room that way. I would have expected a wire to the hook, but presumably the attacker feared that it would make too much noise.”

“I still do not see how the attacker got in, though”, the abbot objected.

I looked an him pointedly. 

“Prior Gustavus said that the man was _stabbed”_ , I said slowly. “The victim clearly had reason to fear that someone was out to kill him, otherwise he would not have refused a visit from the local imam, whose own actions show that that fear may well have been justified. But the victim did not fear his actual killer. He knew him – or possibly even her - well enough to open the window to them, then to secure the rope to allow them to gain entry, and finally – fatally - to let them get close. It was the last mistake that he ever made.”

“One of his own people?” the abbot gasped. 

“The Ottoman Empire cannot afford another war at this time”, I pointed out, “and this man may well have dragged them into one. They could not risk it.”

“The Russians will be furious!” he said.

“True, but they will say and do nothing”, I said. “They will hardly wish to admit that an enemy nation got an assassin into and out of one of their chief ports totally unobserved, even if Trepoff is not technically Russian soil. No, the whole thing will be brushed under the carpet and quickly forgotten about, with a most undiplomatic turn of speed. And all for the best.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The abbot thanked me again for my efforts, and Prior Gustavus caught me at the door and thanked me himself. I did not think it likely that either he or his accomplice would go any further into a life of crime. They had achieved what they wanted, and I had averted the dreadful prospect of a major European war. 

This time.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
